


There Are No Cats Like Lokitty

by Anzie (anzie)



Series: The Adventures of Marvelous Cats [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Angst and Humor, Gen, Implied past!Clint Barton/Loki, Is it or is it not Loki, Kitty!Loki, Loki is a cat, Lokitty, Oneshot, Post-Thor: The Dark World, Steve Rogers likes cats, Tony Stark is a pushover, cat!Loki, that is the question
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-06
Updated: 2014-05-06
Packaged: 2018-01-23 19:25:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1576787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anzie/pseuds/Anzie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>When finally, hours later, Clint manages to coax the little thing into his palms and hands it over to Thor, Tony says, “So I don’t care what you’re naming the thing, but I’m calling him Lokitty and no one’s going to stop me.”</em>
</p><p>For his birthday, Thor gets a cat. Tony names him Lokitty. Natasha decides she likes him, Bruce doesn't want to crush him, Steve misses Bucky and Clint has issues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	There Are No Cats Like Lokitty

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote cat things. 
> 
> Horribly unbeta'd, so any mistakes are my own. If anyone would like to be my beta I'll love you forever.

The neatly wrapped, bow-tied present moves and emits an indignant squeaking sound as Thor stares dubiously at it.

It is days after Thor celebrates his day of birth, and his dear mortal friends the Avengers sit upon the plush red (“It has to be red, I’m _Iron Man_.”) couches in the living room of Tony’s newly rebuilt tower. Thor sits in the middle – at Tony’s insistence, which Thor appreciates in celebration of this day with his new friends – and Tony sits opposite him on the other end of the oval coffee table, at his favorite spot. Next to him is Steve, who has folded his hands in his lap and is smiling. In the chair beside him, Bruce has tucked himself on the single plush chair with a book in his lap. On the couch opposite, Clint and Natasha have appropriated each other’s space with lazy ease, Natasha’s feet thrown casually over Clint’s while a leg of his nestles in her lap.

The offending present sits – or jerks around in what appears to be an uncontrollable manner – upon the aforementioned coffee table.

It is the only physically wrapped present that he has gotten (the first being a fair fight between himself, the Captain and Lady Romanoff, who won the battle with ease – Thor thinks he must introduce the Lady Sif to Lady Romanoff; they will be fast friends), and the first present he has seen so brightly wrapped in glittery paper. That is not why Thor is reluctant to open it, however; he has witnessed first-hand the style of presents that Tony Stark is fond of offering his friends (and here the vibrating stick each for Lady Romanoff _and_ son of Banner come to mind; the former had stuffed it in Tony’s suit and stalked away while Bruce merely returned it to Tony, mumbling about not being interested either way), and he wonders if he should request that Tony opened it for him.

But no, a son of Odin should not be afraid of anything.

Whatever lies within the box begins to scratch at the covering. A tiny claw pokes through the paper and then a soft hiss of annoyance.

Clearing his throat, Thor forces a smile as he looked upon Tony Stark.

“What manner of gift have you gotten me, son of Stark?”

“I’m not supposed to tell you,” Tony says brightly, chin in his hands as he stares at the box with a pleased look on his face. _It does not bode well._ “It’s bad luck.”

Steve Roger’s brows draw together. “Is that true?” Thor glances at him briefly as Tony waves a hand at Steve, shushing impatiently. Steve falls silent with a small frown on his face; Natasha lets out an unladylike snort.

“Just open it, it’s not going to hurt you.”

“That’s what you think,” Bruce mumbles to his lap.

“L- That thing has never hurt a fly in its life.”

Steve holds out a hand with healing scratches upon his wrist with a raised eyebrow at Tony.

“That doesn’t count, you’re not a fly.”

“Just open it,” Clint interrupts with slight unease in his voice. “It might… uh. Go bad. If you leave it in there with no air for too long.”

Thor brightens. “Pop-tarts?” Then he frowns. “I have not heard of a flavor of Pop-tarts that have claws kept in boxes in which they are able to crawl-“

“Open the damn thing before I do it for you,” Natasha says.

It is the annoyed look on her face that has Thor reaching for the present, not wanting to be on the end of another sound beating; the weight shifts as he lifts the box, the pitter-patter of what sounds like tiny feet skittering on the surface. Then it goes quiet. Thor lifts the box to shake it by his ear.

Three voices blurt out in unison-

“ _No, don’t do that!_ ”

-and Thor lowers the box with a sheepish look on his face. Steve is on his feet, Clint at the edge of his seat and Bruce actually reaching out to grab Thor’s wrist.

“I am sorry.”

“It’s fragile,” Clint says. Natasha pats Clint on his back sympathetically. “Just… be careful with it. And open it.”

Taking a deep breath, Thor rips the paper off the box (tossing it to one side, feeling ridiculously like an excited child), and lifts the cover to-

_Hsssst!_

-a tiny black ball of fluff with brilliant green eyes curled in the corner of the box. The little creature – what is it that Jane called them before? Cats? – curls up in a smaller ball and gives him a baleful glare before letting out a high-pitched _mrow_.

Thor’s heart melts.

“It is so tiny,” he says. “A tiny cat.”

“Kitten,” Tony corrects him, “Tiny cats are called kittens.” He eyes Thor’s hands reaching in the box to lift the creature and says, “Be careful-“

Tiny claws dig into his flesh; Thor drops the kitten out of surprise rather than pain and it tumbles to the floor. The Avengers all remain frozen in horror as the kitten picks itself up – probably expecting it to be whimpering and limping about – but it merely shakes out its fur and makes a bid for freedom, neatly dodging the desperate hands of super soldiers and assassins alike to somehow get itself trapped on the upper ledge of Tony’s ceiling-high windows where it refuses to rejoin them with a look of utter disdain.

When finally, hours later, Clint manages to coax the little thing into his palms and hands it over to Thor, Tony says, “So I don’t care what you’re naming the thing, but I’m calling him Lokitty and no one’s going to stop me.”

(The name sends a jolt of pain through Thor’s heart but he ignores it in favor of smiling at the little creature that curls up in Thor’s large hands with a yawn and a relieving lack of contempt and agrees quietly that the name fits the kitten so well.)

 

Lokitty becomes quite fond of Thor as the weeks go by, accepting his cuddles with an eagerness that the real Loki would, Thor imagines, sneer upon; though the black-furred kitten has his own place of rest, often Thor will wake up to find the creature nestled in any crook of Thor’s body. However, oftentimes Lokitty will ignore Thor in favor of playing by himself, batting about to Tony’s whimpers of pain tiny parts of the house that he can find; or he might even be found in Clinton Barton’s room, sitting atop the grumbling archer’s pillow with a look of utter superiority and sharp claws for anyone who tries to dislodge him from his rightful place.

(Thor knows that Clinton Barton does not mind Lokitty there; in fact, when he walks to the room he might hear Clinton speaking with the cat, or see him feed Lokitty a treat from the packet he keeps secretly in one of his drawers. He is glad that Clinton does not hold against his pet what he has against Lokitty’s namesake.)

As a matter of fact, the Avengers seem to be soft-hearted when it comes to Lokitty’s big, sad eyes; small pieces of food somehow find their way to the floor as an offering to what Thor imagines to be a creature that sees itself as their god. Lokitty snaps them up, each and every one of them, but remains sleek and tiny and lovable despite his bipolar personality.

The kitten seems to settle down quite well in the Avenger’s tower, finding ways to get to places he ordinarily should not be able to and strutting about the area as though he owns the place and the Avengers were his tenants. He has even somehow found ways to communicate with the Avengers, either with a strategically placed paw ( _do not do that_ or _I want this_ , depending on whether the paw was on bare skin or a box of food), or a tiny, hopeful lick on their wrists ( _love me, please?_ ), and with everything that the kitten does Thor is reminded of his brother – dead and long gone. _Perhaps Loki has returned to me in this form_ , he often thinks as he pets the creature, and loves Lokitty more fiercely for it.

If this is a second chance he will not waste it.

 

Tony Stark is impervious to sad cat eyes. Tony is strong. Tony is Iron Man. Tony Stark is _so_ impervious to sad cat eyes that he should wonder if it is a side-effect of nearly dying multiple times. And he should probably test it. But not on himself.

But either way Tony Stark is a strong, independent man who does not need a kitten to love him.

Therefore Tony will not give in to sad cat eyes on a furry little face which has a cute little white paw which currently is resting on the edge of Tony’s plate.

Tony _will_ tell this adorable fluffy thing _no_ , because that is his final answer and he won’t accept any arguments, even if there is no argument to be made. Because there isn’t. There shouldn’t be an argument because his word in his goddamn house is law and trespassers should listen to his law. Trespassers, meaning kitten-sized cats who should not be able to convince Jarvis to take him where he wants to go.

Tony Stark is a strong manly man who is impervious to sad cat eyes.

_Blink, blink._

“ _Mew_?”

“Fuck,” Tony says aloud.

 

Steve Rogers finds himself saddled with a small armful of fluff the day Thor has to return to Asgard. Thor was worried the journey through the bifrost might somehow hurt the cat, and Steve thinks Thor might be right. Loki is still smaller than the average male cat despite nearing his first birthday - Tony thinks they might have accidentally picked out the runt of the litter, earning him multiple smacks from each Avenger the minute he said so – but does not seem to mind. As a matter of fact, he uses his adorable size to his advantage.

“You don’t care, do you?” he asks Lokitty as they lay on Steve’s bed on his floor of the Avenger’s tower. The cat rubs enthusiastically against the freshly showered ton of muscle and cuddles up against Steve’s cheek, large green eyes watching him with bright interest. Steve chuckles quietly and scratches Loki’s spine; the cat arches and purrs loud enough to fill the room with the sound of his pleasure, his claws tugging on the threads of Steve’s pillow as he pushes his paws into the softness. “You don’t care you’re smaller than other cats, ‘cause this way you get everything you want.”

Loki gives him an insulted look but easily relaxes when Steve scratches between his ears. They flop to each side of Loki’s head and the cat’s face is pure happiness.

“You’re such a cute thing,” Steve tells Loki. “Thor’s lucky to have someone like you to help him through his tough times.” His tone must be sadder than he thinks because Loki peers at him curiously as though he understands the tone and is wondering why. “Well, I-“ He stops himself abruptly, hand stilling as he stares at the furry creature who waits with an air of impatience.

_I’ve got to be crazy, I’m talking to a cat!_

Lokitty gives him an impatient flick of his tail. Steve starts.

“Ow,” he tells Loki, even though it didn’t hurt. Lokitty merely sniffs his face and settles back down, pointedly putting a paw on his nose. “Okay, _fine_ , I’ll tell you.” He resumes his petting and Loki continues to watch him. “I had… a friend. I lost him a long time ago and… well. It was before I was frozen in ice and came here,” he tells the cat, who watches calmly. “Everyone here is amazing, I couldn’t ask for better people to try understanding what I’ve been through, but I miss him sometimes, you know? Even when I had no one else, I had Bucky.”

Lokitty stares at him silently.

“This is crazy,” Steve tells Loki. “I feel like you understand everything I say.”

Loki yawns at him, and Steve laughs.

“Yeah, I doubt it’s true, too.” He ruffles Loki’s fur one last time (earning him a hiss and a half-hearted swat on his face) before picking up the cat and sitting up. “Come on, let’s go see what I can cook up for dinner.”

 

Bruce tries to avoid Lokitty as much as he can.

It’s not that he doesn’t _like_ the cat. He does; like the other Avengers he’s not averse to slipping Lokitty a few treats every now and then – God knows the little critter needs it, tiny as he is – but he is concerned that the Other Guy might pop up if or when Lokitty decides to scratch him and crush Thor’s newly beloved pet.

So whenever Bruce finds Lokitty dozing on his bed he finds somewhere else to do his reading, or his work when Loki suns himself under the always on lamp on top of Bruce’s desk, or his dinner when Loki takes Bruce’s usual spot with large cat eyes that follow Bruce wherever he goes.

It gets to the point where one day wherever Bruce goes, Loki is waiting for him, tail curled around his body as he watches the scientist sigh and walk away. No matter where he goes – kitchen, dining room, bedroom, couch, even the _bathroom_ – Loki is there, appearing to be waiting for something.

And this goes on for several days.

Bruce is beginning to think that Loki is doing it on purpose, and he says so to Steve over their group dinner that night (never mind that the group consists of only Steve and Natasha, Thor when he is back on Earth, occasionally Clint and almost never Tony). “I don’t know what he’s doing,” Bruce confesses, “But it’s a little unnerving. I’d turn around and he’s just _there_ , watching me.”

“Cat’s being a creep,” Clint agrees around a mouthful of pasta from where he’s seated opposite Bruce. Then, “Ow!”

A baleful _meow_ comes from underneath the table, and suddenly Bruce finds himself with a lapful of furry cat. Loki _mews_ at him and curls up in a tight ball, staring up at him with a hopeful expression on his face.

Steve laughs.

“I think he just wants your attention, Bruce.”

 

Natasha learns to dance with an attention-seeking cat twining around her legs and is all the better for it. Lokitty is certainly better company than his namesake, and Natasha finds that she doesn’t need to try outthinking Lokitty the way her mind raced to outthink a God of Mischief. Lokitty is, after all, just a cat.

But Natasha finds that she enjoys Lokitty’s silent company, the tiny cat sometimes watching her as she fights imaginary enemies, sometimes joining in as more a hindrance than a help, but Natasha appreciates the gesture.

Besides, there are no words necessary between her and the cat, the way it is for her with Clint. No words needed; Lokitty seems to know what to do (stay out of her way when she produces knives and guns) and when to do it (settle on her lap with a quiet purr when she sits down, out of breath and exhausted from her training).

It’s peaceful with the cat.

She never thought of herself as a cat person, but she supposes she has always preferred them over dogs.

 

Clint Barton adores Lokitty, and Lokitty adores him in return if only for the attention and treats Clint is bound to give him when Loki hops into his little hawk’s nest. There’s just something soothing about Lokitty that Clint once experienced when under Loki’s control – and he probably shouldn’t compare the two because there’s no way Lokitty is Loki at all, sweet and loving as the cat is with Clint. (Clint likes to think that Lokitty likes him more than the other Avengers, that Lokitty purrs louder, cuddles harder and generally spends more time with Clint. It’s hard to tell because Lokitty has a tendency to go off by himself, but when he’s in a cuddly mood Clint likes to think that Loki comes to him before anyone else.)

“You’re a lil’ cutie patootie, aren’t ya?” he asks Loki, who’s settled himself on Clint’s chest and is purring his lungs out. “Cute little critter, all floofy and you’re secretly a sweetheart.”

Loki’s claws dig a little into Clint’s bare chest but he doesn’t stop purring.

“Ow,” he tells Loki. “Don’t do that, you’ll hurt me. And you like me unhurt.”

 _I do very much_ , Lokitty’s furry face tells him. Clint is abruptly reminded of the _real_ Loki, who Thor says is dead. (Clint doesn’t know what to think about that, because Loki was his God for a while and now he’s dead and Gods don’t die.)

“I kind of miss him,” Clint says to Lokitty.

Lokitty cracks an eye open at him and rests his chin atop his paws. Clint pulls his hand back to tuck them under his head, watching the cat.

“What?”

“ _Meow_.”

“I’m not gonna talk to you.”

“ _M-row_?”

“No.”

“ _M-rooow._ ”

“No, _you_ shut up.”

Impatient claws dig sharply into his skin and Clint yelps, almost throwing Lokitty off the bed in his haste to peel the cat off his chest. Lokitty gives him a wounded look from where he’s landed on the side of the nest, unmoving.

“Shit, sorry, did I hurt you?” Clint says in a panicky voice before Loki yawns at him, superior amusement in his eyes, and _damn_ , a cat should not be able to give him that look. _Boss, Loki, fuck, are you a cat?_ “Don’t scare me like that,” he scolds Lokitty, who huffs and licks his hand. Automatically, Clint ruffles his ears and cuddles the cat close. “You gave me a heart attack,” he confesses.

A quiet _meow_ is more felt than heard, and Loki purrs, his body rumbling like a little truck.

“You remind me so much of him,” Clint confesses, much to his own surprise, but once he starts talking he can’t stop. “You’re just a cat but he acts like he’s one half the time; he likes being scratched down the spine, y’know? Fucking cats, man. But he was nice and then sometimes he’s not, just like you; sometimes he likes going off by himself and sometimes he’s so clingy that it can be a little bit annoying, and it’s just fucking weird for me, okay, cat? You and he are alike and I don’t fucking know if you’re him or he’s you or it’s neither. It’s just weird.”

Lokitty turns his face into the crook of Clint’s neck and Clint laughs.

“I’m being stupid again, aren’t I?” he asks no one in particular, and he shouldn’t feel so much like crying. “I’m being stupid again. Fuck.” And his body shakes with tremors he can’t control, and it’s stupid to miss the stupid God but he does for reasons he doesn’t suppose he’ll ever understand, it’s stupid to think that Lokitty is actually Loki returned to him in any way Loki possibly can; Loki’s _dead_ , and Thor said the dead go to Valhalla or Helheim and surely Loki the god is in one of the two now. Surely Loki the god isn’t the furry bundle in his arms giving him silent relief in quiet purring.

He tries not to scream.

Eventually, finally, his tremors stop and Loki the cat lifts his head and stares Clint in the face before licking the tip of his nose, a silent question.

“I’ll be fine,” Clint tells him even as tears trickle down the side of his face and he presses little kisses to the patient cat’s face. “I’ll be fine.” Lokitty gives a little shake of assent and wriggles out of his grasp to slip out the door. Clint watches the cat go before flopping back down in his bed.

He’ll be fine.

And maybe one day he’ll start believing himself.

**Author's Note:**

> It wasn't meant to end like this, I swear. 
> 
> Thank you for reading.
> 
> For reference, this is kind of how I imagine Lokitty to look like: http://fc05.deviantart.net/fs13/f/2007/037/0/0/Little_black_kitten_by_hoschie.jpg  
> Only with a white paw because aw kitty <3


End file.
